On Saturday, 4 September, Concordian International School hosted TEDx Krungthep and welcomed over 300 attendees, fondly called TEDsters elsewhere, within its sparkling new campus and well manicured lawns. TEDx are independently organized conferences based off original TED annual meetings in the UK and the US. TEDsters started trickling in at the break of dawn and warmed themselves up with hot cups of coffee and snacks. As more people arrived they inevitably formed small discussion groups, seemingly all fired up and in the mood for “Ideas Worth Spreading”, which is TED’s motto.

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 (Note: this article is making the email blogosphere rounds. It's assumed to be fake, and no effort was made [by me] as to its veracity. ~ BP)

Postcripts Of A BloodBath
by Bang Lu Min (One of the Hostages) Mr. Mendoza was already upset even before he saw on television what the policemen did to his brother. The other tourists who remained inside the bus were complaining. Wei Ji Jiang wanted to go to the bathroom. Dao Chi Yu was hungry and the rest were just groaning and whining like they have forgotten that our lives rest in Mr. Mendoza's hands. The hostage taker, as you know him was really nice. He treated us okay and even let the elders and the children leave the bus. He said your policemen treated him unfairly. He was a policeman too and was accused of doing something he had no knowledge of. But your government didn't listen so he used us to get everyone's attention. Things would have never turned for the worst if he didn't see how his family was dragged out of their house and taken into custody. He was watching the news all the time as we huddled around each other behind the bus. He shouted some words in your language then started shooting in the air. A girl about my age started screaming. Mr. Mendoza demanded her to stop but she didn't understand English. God, he had to slash her neck with a knife just to put her to rest. Her boyfriend who tried to hit him was shot in the head. Tension was rising. You can see in his face how scared and confused he was. The bus driver ran away leaving him alone with strangers from a distant land. I can see him walking across the aisle, sometimes pointing his machine gun to one of the tourists. But he tried his best not to hurt us, especially those who really cooperate. I guess its in your nature not to inflict pain on others unless it was necessary. I remember him saying that he will free us before sundown and implored us to forget everything when we return home. But his words don't matter now. The policemen were trying to force their way in, while we all lied down to shield ourselves from bullets. Mister Mendoza blindly shoots at his enemies which I think kept them from rescuing us. I hear sobs under the chairs. Some were even shouting the names of their loved ones even when the air merely eat their words. Kevin Tang tried to escape when the glass door was was shattered, but one shot and he slumped on the floor with blood gushing from his mouth. Heavy rain pitter-pattered on the rooftop. In old Chinese saying, it means an end to a struggle. Finally, somebody was able to open the escape hatch at the back of the bus. Freedom. But I knew Mister Mendoza was still alive. I knew he was just waiting for a chance to strike back at his enemies. So I told those around me not to escape. Let the authorities come for us instead. Then there was gunfire. He was firing at his enemies with a machine gun. Those who were at the escape hatch fled abandoning us once again. It's like a nightmare with no end and to wake up means a certain death. Then somebody from outside the bus threw a canister. It forced out a black smoke that is so painful to the eyes and putrid smelling to the nose. People started screaming. We cannot breathe. Some ran in front of the bus but Mister Mendoza warned them of stray bullets. It was too late. One was hit on the head, the other was hit on the shoulders. Bullets were now flying. Its like the authorities thought we were all dead. Mister Mendoza finally realizes his mistake and said sorry to everyone, dead or alive. He then ran towards the front of the bus where he would meet his maker. As he passed by my chair with bullets whistling overhead, I clutched my hand on the velvet curtain and wrapped it around my face. All I could think of was to stay alive - for my child who is waiting for me back in Xinjang. I know I will survive, I will come home. Bang Lu Min Survivor, Quirino Bloodbath 

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Nakikinig ako ngayon sa speech ni "Babalu" sa TV. Siya po ang dating PM nga bansang ito na pinatalsik, at ngayon siya ay ang brand new advisor ng ekonomiya ng Cambodia. Ngayon ko lang narinig itong magsalita sa wikang Inggles, dahil siya ay nagtatalumpati sa harap ng maraming ASEAN-based guests sa Cambo, at dahil ang Cambo ay Inggles ang wika ng business.

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Ang Habitat for Humanity  Asia Pacific region, ay gagawa ng maraming bahay sa Amphur Sansai, Chiang Mai province. Ito'y part of the Mekong Build 2009 project ni former US President and Nobel Peace Prize laureate Jimmy Carter and wife Rosalyn. Darating po ang dalawa, kasama ang ilang daang volunteer mula sa Chiang Mai, sa abroad, mga expat at OFW, para gumawa ng 350 na bahay para sa mga katutubo ng Thailand.

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Over a year ago I went home to good ol’ Manila for my year end break. When I came back to Chiang Mai I posted a rant in the old SiamPinoy forum about certain ordeals I, and a million other Manileños, had to put up with in my commute around the Metropolis. I stated that the city I used to love and grew up in [and with] is no more. It has changed for the worse. I wrote a raw appraisal and critique of the poor urban planning of the Mega City, the lack of morals of many of our kababayans and the sheer stress from living in Manila.

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I'm just coming out of a self-induced, catatonic state of shock and awe. It's in the news and all over the Net, in vivid, graphic images and dramatic video footage. The wake of Typhoon Ketsana, local name "Ondoy", has one going through all six stages of grief. And then some.

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[This blog was written by Ramil Digal Gulle, Filipino writer, culled from Multiply. This was NOT written by me, but is reposted upon request from a Facebook acquaintance.]

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It was inevitable.

As soon as I clicked on the "Accept" link on a Facebook invite, all pretensions of self-discipline, time-management and organization flew out the window. These Facebook people wielded their masterful marketing skills and reeled me in on the cheap; then I was theirs for life. At least for now.

Where at first I looked down my button nose and sniffed at "those Facebook junkies", I was now one of the dreaded herd: hunched over the monitor, praying to Buddha that no one would notice I was at the effing site, accessing it  for a 5-minute laugh at my friends' status (stata?), CNN news, and Mafia Wars updates. I would grin stupidly at the screen, one eye on the latest American Idol winner, and the other on the clock. There is some sort of secret thrill in this underhanded activity. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the latest socially acceptable global, Millennial addiction: Facebooking!

Will the addiction wane, weaken and hopefully end for me? I think not. Just this morning I was flummoxed by the seeming impossibility of a smart, crafty status I wrote in Home which was not showing up in Profile? Why? Why me!? Argh, angst! And so forth. Sigh, I'm afraid this passes for socializing these days. I, the technology immigrant, have finally attained the digital accent of Gen-Zers!

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A month or so ago, an "Angel Tree" was installed in the school's front office.

The Angel Tree is an annual community project where orphans from far away Mae Hongson province hang cards or tags on pine tree branches. On these cards are a photo of themselves  and a handwritten or printed Christmas wish; we then chose our cards and purchased items for the kids, gift-wrapped it, and lay it on the floor around the Christmas tree for them.

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As an "edumakater" I also tutor ESL kids part time. I think I have the "G" and the "K" for it....the guts and "karapatan" [that's colloquial for 'the right to one's own delusion']. I have taught ESL full time a couple years back. The work can get tedious, but it has its rewards.

I was with my 10-year old tutee the other day. Bright kid, great imagination with an English level somewhere in the high intermediate. We were going through our drills when I suddenly felt that the room was getting way too warm for me. I stood briefly to remove my blazer, fold and lay it neatly on the back of my armchair. Distracted from her work, little Miss ESL looked up at me to see what I was doing. Then she said quite innocently, "Teacher, I think you're hot."

I smiled. I knew what she meant and waited for her to correct herself. In half a second, she shook her head and said, "I mean, you know. Like this..." she gestured like she was fanning herself. "Yes, I am feeling a bit warm", I replied. She repeated the phrase to herself, probably to remember and use it next time. While this little girl mistated it, I'd like to think there was some truth her remark: yup, I'm hot! I'll come up to people and say "hello, I'm Buddhist Punk. And I'm hot!"

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